


Return Address

by coincidental_penalties, watchforwalkers



Category: Glee
Genre: Cabins, Canonical Character Death - Finn Hudson, Depression, Fix-It of Sorts, Future Fic, Ghosts Maybe?, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Letters, M/M, Magical Realism, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coincidental_penalties/pseuds/coincidental_penalties, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchforwalkers/pseuds/watchforwalkers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thinks Kurt Anderson has it all: successful career as a Tony-winning costume designer, gorgeous loft in Manhattan's trendy Astor Row neighborhood, loving husband with a booming practice in couple's counseling. In reality, Kurt’s life is barely held together with a web of lies, misery, and prescriptions. On the advice of a friend, Kurt rents a house in upstate New York to take a break and put things in perspective, only to find that his life only looks more miserable from a distance. Sinking deeper and deeper into depression, Kurt is considering ending it all when he gets a letter in the mail, postmarked one week ago. The return address says only ‘Finn Hudson’, which is impossible, since the man died a decade ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return Address

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to our wonderful artist, cinnaboy, for the beautiful artwork!

The doorman doesn’t think there’s anything strange about Kurt leaving the building with three pieces of luggage in tow. In fact, he calls a cab for Kurt, and even addresses the cabbie with where he thinks Kurt is headed—JFK—and Kurt waits until the cab has pulled away from the curb before saying anything. 

“Actually, I need to go to Penn Station,” Kurt says calmly. “I’m heading upstate.” He doesn’t know why he adds the second sentence, except that a small part of him wants to state his intention out loud, something he hasn’t done at all. Blaine hadn’t noticed that Kurt had brought out the luggage, and he hadn’t noticed Kurt taking a larger than usual bundle to the cleaners’ just a few days before. What really hurt, though, was Blaine had not noticed that Kurt was wearing older clothes and out of style clothing for the past two days, because he hadn’t wanted to leave behind this year’s pieces in the laundry. 

“Penn Station it is,” the cabbie agrees. 

Kurt checks his messages as the cabbie drives, double-checking that all is fine at his current show, and responding to a few messages that he’ll be working on concept sketches and sending them via picture and ultimately courier. His colleagues and employers in costume design all know that he’s leaving the city for at least a few weeks. What they think he’s doing is going on an artistic retreat, alone with his programs and sketches and inspirational materials, and certainly, Kurt had had all of those things shipped to the cabin he’d selected to rent. 

Kurt’s real motivation, though, had been to get some time away from the bustle of the city, away from the Tony awards on his mantle that he’s proud of, even though a voice in the back of his head reminds him that he hadn’t wanted to win Tonys for costuming. He’d needed to get away from the loft on Astor Row, and from pretending that the Andersons were perfectly happy and healthy in their relationship. All of their friends and colleagues hold them up as exemplars and something to aspire to, but Kurt had packed at least four different prescription medications with him, hoping that the time away would let him have some time away from some of his medications, too. Psychotropic medications, though, were one of the only ways that he maintained the appropriate pretense in front of others and, at times, in front of Blaine. 

Blaine is the love of Kurt’s life. That’s the narrative that Kurt had always told people, and up to a point, Kurt had believed it. He can’t even put a finger on the moment that he stopped thinking of Blaine as the love of his life and as the person that he had committed to spend his life with. Slowly, even that had slid into the concept of Blaine being the person who Kurt happened to share his life with, because he couldn’t find the courage to know if he really wanted to be with Blaine anymore. The fact that he can’t decide probably should tell him something, Kurt knows, but all he’s mustered so far is his little Adirondack retreat, which Blaine doesn’t yet know about. 

“Here we are,” the cabbie announces unnecessarily, and Kurt tips him extra for lifting out the bags. Kurt tries not to focus too much on why he’s traveling as he gets on his train and double-checks the arrangements for the rental car at his destination, but as he searches the map for small towns with grocery stores, in order to stock the lake house, it’s hard to deny that he’s almost running away. 

The letter he left for Blaine will satisfy Blaine, Kurt knows that. Blaine who, despite his very popular and seemingly successful couples’ counseling practice, doesn’t seem to realize how much their own relationship has broken down. If he does realize, Kurt knows that his lack of response means that he simply doesn’t care. Blaine is on his own chemical cocktail, though he insists his need for the drugs is somehow more legitimate than Kurt’s. The letter is full of buzzwords and phrases that will pacify and reassure Blaine, at least for a few weeks, which should give Kurt time to think, away from the way Blaine attempts to smooth over any problems. Blaine doesn’t like to discuss things in depth, a curious trait for a therapist in Kurt’s opinion. 

The drive from the station to the remote cabin takes longer than Kurt anticipates, thanks in part to Kurt’s stopping at three different yet strangely similar convenience stores after his earlier supermarket stop. Each time, Kurt thinks that surely, there won’t be a smaller or more remote convenience store on the remainder of his route. Each time, though, the smaller store has even more of the things that Kurt needs. At the third one, Kurt finds organic milk, local heirloom cheeses, an excellent selection of ice cream, and his favorite juice smoothie, and he gets another two bags of food and supplies. Finally, though, he reaches the cabin while it’s still light out, giving him time to look through each room, unload the car, and put away all of the groceries. 

As the light starts to fade, Kurt pulls on old memories to build a fire in the fireplace, then brings in additional wood before locking up the rental car and heading inside for the evening. He closes the curtains and heads to the bedroom to unpack his luggage, returning in lounge clothes to a roaring fire some forty-five minutes later. Raquette Lake shimmers with some moonlight, and Kurt eats his salad, purchased at the supermarket, before curling up with a novel he’d purchased specifically for evenings by the fire. Daylight, he thinks, will be the time to contemplate the life in New York he has essentially fled. 

Kurt spends his early morning sipping coffee on the back deck, watching the birds and other animals near the lake. He mentally sketches out his day: he’ll spend a few hours in the morning on costume research and design, eat lunch, and then force himself to think about the state of his life with Blaine for at least an hour or so before he goes to check the mail and walk around the area. There may be other people at other cabins, and he assumes it would be good to know who they are and which cabins are occupied. 

The costume design goes well, lunch is surprisingly good considering the source of the vegetables, and Kurt gives himself a slight break, allowing himself to simply journal about issues with his relationship with Blaine, starting from near the beginning. The owner of the cabin, a friend of a friend, had asked Kurt to bring in all of the mail and place it in a box in the main room, and then told Kurt he was free to get mail sent to him there, as well. Kurt hadn’t given the address out, however, and there are only what looks like junk mail envelopes, all addressed to the owner. Kurt waves at a few people and then goes back to the cabin, journaling more. 

The next five days follow a similar pattern, except that by the third day, Kurt is once again using the maximum amount of medications that he can. The journaling only makes him both angrier and full of more despair. Too much of his life is lies and wrapped up with the lies he and Blaine have both told; how can he escape that? Even his costume designs start to fall apart, and he can’t come up with ideas or reproduce them in sketches. 

By Saturday, Kurt doesn’t know what his next step should be. He’s catalogued his entire life, and he hates everything he’s written down about himself, but there’s no clear path in any other direction. All of his finances are tied up with Blaine’s, and he doesn’t know if he wants to get his costume design mojo back or not. Kurt knows there’s probably a good reason to plan an ending to his retreat, to go back and try to separate his life from Blaine’s and from costuming, and to start over, but it all sounds exhausting, and by the time he goes to check the mail that afternoon, he’s eyeing the lake more morbidly than he would admit out loud. It would be weeks before anyone looked for him, Kurt knows, and the lake would be an ending, easily accessible. 

Like most days, there’s only one piece of mail, and Kurt almost doesn’t look at it closely. He sees a K, though, at the start of the name, and he does a double-take. ‘Kurt Hummel’, the address begins, a name that he hasn’t gone by in years. A name that most of his current friends and colleagues don’t even know. The handwriting looks almost familiar, tugging at the edge of his consciousness, and then he drops the letter when he sees the return address. 

“It’s a mistake,” he says out loud. “It got forwarded here somehow after being lost for years. Once I look at the postmark, that will explain it.” The postmark, though, insists that the letter was mailed on Monday, the very day that Kurt left the city, and Kurt stares at the single line of the return address again, the name unassuming on the white envelope. ‘Finn Hudson’. There’s no way Finn is writing letters, but there’s no one Kurt knows who is cruel enough to try to fool him, and Kurt presses the letter to his chest as he walks back to the cabin. Even if it was lost for years, it’s still a letter Kurt hasn’t read before, and he makes himself a fresh pot of coffee to take onto the deck before he opens the envelope and unfolds the paper. 

_Dear Kurt,_ as though the ghost of Finn Hudson writes him letters on a daily basis.

_I heard you’re taking a sabbatical, which is kind of weird, since I didn’t know atheists could take sabbaticals. So, an atheatical, maybe? Either way, I hope you’re getting a nice break up there in the mountains or whatever’s around you in that part of th—_

“What the fuck?” Kurt says more loudly than he intends, and he rolls his eyes at himself as he hears it echo. 

_—e state. I hope there’s some nice rivers or lakes. You could try fishing. I bet you’d look funny in those big rubber boot-pants you’re supposed to wear for fishing!_

“You can fish in a boat. Not that I’m going fishing!” Kurt says, frowning at the letter. If Finn really were writing him a letter, Kurt knows he’d probably be laughing at the idea of Kurt in waders. 

_I think it’s probably good you left the city for a little while. I know stuff hasn’t been great lately. Being away for a while might give you perspective._

“Too much—how do you even know about that? First of all, you lived your entire life in the same town in Ohio, worked the same place you went to high school, and you’re actually not even alive!” Kurt says. “Which begs the question of how you’re writing to me.” 

_Still, I wish you’d felt like you could talk to somebody about it, instead of having to leave. You know I’m always here if you need me, even if I’m a little far away for warm milk and those chats._

“A _little_ far away? Try noncorporeal!” 

_Maybe you’ll write me back, at least. Sometimes it’s easier to say stuff on paper than it is to say it out loud. So, write me back. You know where to find me._

“No! No I don’t!” Kurt says, and this time he doesn’t care that it echoes. “What am I supposed to do, put an envelope in the mailbox that just says ‘Finn Hudson’?” 

_Miss you!_

_Love,  
Finn_

“Miss _me_?” Kurt says. “You at least have apparently talked to me sometime since 2013! I haven’t talked to _you_. And I seem to be considering taking you up on your offer of writing to you, which says too much about my own mental state.” Kurt folds up the letter carefully, though, walking inside and tucking it inside one of his books before finding a pad of lined paper and a pen. 

He pours himself more coffee and turns the oven to preheat for dinner, then takes the pad, pen, and coffee mug back outside. Maybe he’s engaging in something crazy, but if he can truly deliver a letter to Finn without an address, it stands to reason that he could get a response more quickly than he otherwise would receive a letter in return via the postal service. He can write to Finn and put it in the mailbox before dinner. 

Kurt wants to interrogate Finn as to how, exactly, any of this is possible, but part of him is afraid to disrupt it, so he decides to save that for a later letter, if at all. 

_Dear Finn,_

_First of all, let me assure you that I will not be wearing waders, especially since I have no actual plans to fish while I am here. I prefer to think of it as a retreat of sorts, though now that I’ve been here for nearly a week, it feels more like the military type of retreat._

_As you might have guessed from that statement, the perspective of leaving the city has only left me feeling like my life in the city is nothing more than a trap. That’s dismal, I know. I think it’s possible I’ve felt that way for some time, but until I started evaluating things this week, I didn’t really name it._

_Technically, I’m in the Adirondacks, so yes, there are mountains in addition to the lake. Things sometimes echo, if they’re loud enough._

_I miss you, too. Probably more than you could imagine._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Once Kurt has written has much as he can bear, he quickly folds the letter up and puts it in an envelope, writing ‘Finn Hudson’ in the middle on the front and then putting his own full return address in the corner. Feeling a little ridiculous, Kurt seals the envelope, puts a stamp on it, and puts in his dinner before walking to the mailbox once more. He tries to put both Finn’s letter and his own response out of his mind for the rest of the evening, but he can’t focus easily on his novel, and ultimately, he goes to bed early. 

He has strange dreams, reliving incidents in his life but with Finn there. One of the events is Kurt’s wedding to Blaine, and the entire reception feels like it is different than the one Kurt actually had. Kurt wakes up angry with his brain, but he still finds himself anticipating his walk to the mailbox more than he probably should. His contemplation of his and Blaine’s relationship still leaves him feeling mildly horrified, and Kurt knows that if he doesn’t give in to the lake, he’ll have to get out his laptop for the first time since he arrived and begin contacting professionals who can help him extricate his life from Blaine’s. 

Kurt tells himself not to get his hopes up, but when he opens the mailbox, underneath a water bill for the owner is another envelope, addressed exactly the same way as the one the day before. The postmark is smudged, and Kurt can’t make out the date, but the return address is also the same: a single line reading ‘Finn Hudson’. Kurt exhales heavily and walks back to the cabin, ready to get a mug of coffee and read it on the deck, just like the previous day. He takes a deep breath before opening the envelope and starting to read. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_Adirondacks is the chairs, right? At least you’ll always have a place to sit while you’re there. I’ll look it up so I can see what it looks like. The place you’re staying, not the chairs. I know what the chairs look like._

“Of course you do,” Kurt says. “You probably _own_ one of the chairs in whatever place it is you’re writing from.” 

_I guess I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten for you. Sounds like they were a lot worse than I thought. I wish I’d been there to help you. You probably could’ve used some family._

“Even if you were fully alive and present, you wouldn’t have noticed. No one did. Not even Blaine himself,” Kurt says. “I’ll tell you not to blame yourself when I respond, I suppose.” 

_I know what you mean, though, feeling like your life is a trap. Sometimes I feel like that, too, like I’m stuck in one place and don’t know how to get out. I know I did it to myself. Doesn’t make it feel any better, though._

“Where did you get stuck, Finn?” Kurt asks. “Aside from the obvious, I mean. I did it to myself, too.” 

_Maybe when you’re back, we should plan to get together. We can do a brother road trip or something. I promise I’d let you do all the driving._

“I would even let you drive. Admittedly, at times that I wanted to sleep, but I would,” Kurt says. 

_I don’t really understand why we fell out of touch like we did. I can’t remember if I said or did something wrong, or if you got too busy. When I try to think about, it just feels all fuzzy, like static when the cable goes out. Let’s not let that happen anymore, okay? Let’s not be out of touch anymore._

Kurt swallows hard, because it’s somehow scary and reassuring at the same time that Finn can’t recall the space between the present and 2013 all that well. “It would have probably been me, though,” Kurt says. “Evidence suggests that it would have been, looking at my life right now.” 

_Love,  
Finn_

Kurt smiles to himself and refolds the letter, putting it with the first one before heading back outside. 

_Dear Finn,_

_I feel like no one adequately explained to us how easily we could feel trapped in cages of our own making. The decisions I made—to marry Blaine, to pursue costuming over performing, to accept that it was my brain and not my circumstances making me feel sad and out of my mind—all seemed so rational and reasonable at the time I made them. They even, in most cases, felt good. But now none of them, and none of their effects, feel good at all. _

_If I needed to sleep, I’m sure you could drive adequately. Alternatively, we could fly to some small Mexican town or maybe somewhere in Canada. I don’t want to leave North America just yet._

_I’ll make sure to do more than write as soon as I’m back in the city, whenever that ends up being._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Kurt repeats the same process with his letter as the day before, down to the one-line address and a stamp, and heads to the mailbox. Now that he knows he can communicate, however bizarrely, with this version of Finn, he’s able to focus on his novel. Still, his dreams are full of Finn once more. He sees more events, all with Finn there at times he wasn’t, all after 2013, and Kurt feels unsettled and yet well-rested when he wakes up. 

His morning efforts at costume design are pitiful, and he knows it, but he can’t concentrate on the work, instead sketching out bodies that are too tall for the roles, and in one case, he absentmindedly adds a down-filled vest to a costume that decidedly does not need a vest of any sort. 

Kurt forces himself not to check the mail early, instead getting out his laptop and contacting an accountant and a lawyer. He may not really have much to show for it if he walks away from Blaine and costuming, but he has to at least know what would happen. Finally, he lets himself walk to the mailbox, and once again, there’s a letter waiting, postmark smudged and only Finn’s name as the sender. He doesn’t walk back first, instead immediately opening the letter and reading it as he walks. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_Sometimes I don’t even know how I got here, like I wasn’t even the one making the decisions, but who else could have been making them? It’s like at some point somebody decided nope, this is it, this is as far as you’re getting in your life. It’s not even like it’s bad. It’s just never any different. Half the time I feel like nothing has changed since that first year after we graduated from high school. At least you got out of Lima and tried to do something different. You did better than me._

_Love,  
Finn_

“But how?” Kurt asks, not sure if he’s talking to the letter or just to anyone who might hear him. “How could this be? How could you really just be in some kind of suspended animation?” He shakes his head. “I suppose I’ve fallen far out of touch enough with everyone else that someone could be making decisions for you, Finn, and I wouldn’t have any clue. And now I sound so ridiculous, practically accusing Rachel or Sam or someone of hiding you or something!” 

Kurt walks through the house, putting the letter away and getting his pad of paper as he heads to the deck to reply. 

_Dear Finn,_

_I couldn’t say who could or would make those decisions for you, but then, if you did discover it wasn’t yourself, you could at least yell at that person or even punch them. Yelling at myself has little effect, as you might imagine, and I haven’t even attempted to punch myself—I’d merely hurt my own hand and my own chin._

_Do you wish you’d left Lima? Sometimes New York feels more like a prison of expectations, even if there’s more opportunities, too. People in Lima fill their roles, and ultimately, that’s what happens in New York. People stay in the role that they’re given, that they’ve assigned themselves, and no one steps outside it._

_I wish someone had told me how little difference there ultimately was between a small town and one of the largest cities in the world. There are more museums. There are more theatres. There are fewer people, percentage-wise, who know who I am, and most of the time, that’s a positive. Still, it’s less different than I imagined at sixteen and seventeen._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Kurt feels almost cheerful as he finishes addressing the envelope and walking to the mailbox, and he spends more time fixing a more elaborate dinner than he has since he arrived at the lake. He still looks out the window, contemplating the lake itself, but for now, he knows there’s at least one person—corporeal or otherwise, living or perhaps dead—who would miss him if he suddenly disappeared, and for the next day or two, that alone is enough. 

The next day, Kurt sends the requested information to the accountant and the lawyer, and authorizes them to contact people on his behalf, and he realizes that he hasn’t considered Blaine’s reaction since he left. Part of him wonders if Blaine really noticed that the loft was missing one occupant. Still, it’s been more than a week, and his letter did promise that he would attempt to contact Blaine periodically, so Kurt resolves that he’ll make the call. 

His reward will be checking the mailbox afterwards. 

Kurt takes three deep breaths, then dials Blaine’s number, morbidly amused that he had forgotten that he’d deleted Blaine’s contact from his phone when he left the city. The phone rings only twice before Blaine answers. 

“Kurt?” Blaine’s voice sounds strained and slightly frantic. “Is everything alright? I thought I would at least hear _something_ from you before now!”

“Hello, Blaine,” Kurt says. “I lost track of the days, I suppose.” It’s not precisely true, but once the letters from Finn began arriving, Kurt had begun orienting his thoughts around Finn, not costuming or Blaine. 

“When are you planning on coming home?”

“I don’t have plans. I can stay here for quite some time, if I choose to,” Kurt explains. “I will make an effort to touch base more frequently, though.” Until Kurt makes a decision, he knows he owes Blaine that much, at least. 

“Are you even interested in trying to make things work?” Blaine asks. “Does that even matter to you anymore?”

“I need to make things work for myself, Blaine. If things aren’t working for me, how can they work with any other system that I’m a piece of?” Kurt says. 

“We can work on that together, Kurt.”

“No, Blaine. That’s the point. I’ve only worked on myself as part of a relationship for too long. I have to work on myself as a solitary unit. I don’t know if that fits into your paradigm or not, but it’s what I need.” 

Blaine sighs loudly. “But it’s important to work on our relationships at the same time. I always recommend a mix of joint and individual therapy sessions. Why can’t we do both?”

“Because I’m not your client, I’m your husband, and this isn’t a therapy session, it’s a retreat,” Kurt says. 

“A retreat from _what_ , exactly?” Blaine asks, now sounding like he’s on the verge of getting angry.

Kurt frowns, trying to decide how honest and specific he wants to be. “From my life,” he finally says, keeping his voice as light as possible. 

“What’s wrong with your life?” Blaine demands. 

“I am not your client,” Kurt repeats. “And please don’t speak to me in that tone of voice.” 

“You’re the one who walked out on me!” Blaine says. “You’re the one who disappeared and just left me a _letter_! I wouldn’t even know what state you were in if Keith hadn’t called me to find out if you would be back from the Adirondacks in time for their anniversary party!”

“That’s the last time I get Keith an expensive bottle of wine for his anniversary,” Kurt mutters under his breath. “Yes, Blaine, I left you a letter, but that does not give you the right to scold me or interrogate me.” 

“I think eight years of marriage gives me the right.”

“And I think eight years of marriage should mean you wouldn’t attempt to assert such a non-existent right,” Kurt counters. “Is there anything I actually _need_ to know?” 

“I canceled the cable, since you were the only one who used it, and I’ve canceled the subscriptions to all those magazines you had on our joint account,” Blaine says. 

“Oh, my. However will I go on,” Kurt says softly, not really caring if Blaine can make out the words or not. “I’ll keep that in mind, I suppose, Blaine. I’ll speak with you again within a week’s time.” 

“Fine,” Blaine snaps, then abruptly ends the call. 

“That went well,” Kurt says sarcastically out loud. “I’ll have to tell Finn about it when I write.” He sighs, not sure if looking forward to Finn’s letter and responding means things he’s not willing to examine. Still, now he gets to walk to the mailbox, and once again, he opens the envelope immediately after removing it. 

_Dear Kurt,_ Kurt reads, and he sighs a little, feeling his body relax at the once again familiar handwriting. 

_I guess you’re right. Where would I be beside Lima? Probably nowhere, since I can’t really imagine myself any place else. Not that I wouldn’t ever want to live somewhere else, but I don’t think my imagination is good enough for me to picture myself living anywhere different._

“Oh, Finn, that’s not what I meant,” Kurt says with a tsk. “I was thinking something more along the lines of maybe you wished you lived somewhere you had to wear waders sometimes.” 

_I think these letters are starting to get really depressing._

“No, no, I’m sorry! I’ll change what we’re discussing, but don’t stop!” Kurt says almost frantically. 

_I’ll start trying to write about happier stuff. Have you read any good books lately? What TV shows do you like? What’s your favorite kind of ice cream these days?_

Kurt laughs to himself. “I’ll just skip the part in my letter where my husband canceled the cable to be spiteful, when I respond. Maybe if we were talking face to face, I’d tell you, and we’d laugh, but not like this.” 

_I read a really funny book about a guy with a psychic cat. I think Brittany would really like it, but it’s probably not your kind of thing. I mostly watch reruns of the shows I’ve already seen. My favorite ice cream is still cookie dough, but I had this french toast flavored kind once that was really good._

“I haven’t seen Brittany in at least five years,” Kurt says. “I wonder if you’ve seen any shows that came out since 2013 at all. And french toast flavored ice cream doesn’t sound good at all, I’m sorry to say.” 

_I feel like we should be those people who slowly play a game of chess by mail. I know I’ve seen that in a few movies. I don’t know how to play chess, though, so we’d have to play checkers by mail instead._

_Love,  
Finn_

Kurt laughs. “I’d have to order a set of checkers first.” He stops inside the house and quickly looks up fishing towns before heading outside. 

_Dear Finn,_

_I more was thinking along the lines that perhaps you would enjoy wearing waders and fishing. There’s a good fishing town in Michigan, another in Wisconsin, and apparently one somewhere in New York State, to start any planning._

_I’ve been reading some novels while I’m here in the Adirondacks, especially since there’s no cable here. Actually, the only television is in a spare bedroom, so I didn’t plan to watch anything for the duration of my stay. I’ll use my evenings after I leave to catch up on media, I suppose._

_I still like rocky road the best, but you’re still one of only two people who actually knows that fact. I bought several pints on my way to the cabin, in fact; I’ll probably eat one after dinner tonight._

_Tell me a funny story, something one of your co-workers did recently or something._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Kurt does eat an entire pint of rocky road that evening, after he mails the letter to Finn and eats dinner, and then he reads a little more of his novel before deciding that his next read will be something published before 2013, so he can feel confident telling Finn about it. He’s sure he has at least one older book packed with him. 

He doesn’t remember any dreams that night, but when he decides to look online at pictures of his wedding and the other events from his dreams, the pictures aren’t what he remembers. At first, he’s just confused, and then he realizes that in some pictures online, friends of his have tagged Finn, and as he enlarges them, he can see Finn in the pictures. It’s not idle tagging or a joke in poor taste, and Kurt stares at the computer for a long time before screaming. 

“How is this happening?” he demands of the cabin. “Why is it happening? I can remember Finn’s death! His funeral! He wasn’t at any of these events! It isn’t _funny_!” There’s no answer, which is probably best, or Kurt would just think he was going crazy. 

The accountant does not have particularly good news for Kurt after lunch, but it’s not as bad as it could have been. Kurt can afford to walk away from Blaine and still have a place to live for several months, without having to initially take on any additional costuming jobs. The lawyer hasn’t yet responded to Kurt’s latest inquiry, and Kurt shuts down the laptop for the day before placing his paper and pen outside, ready for him to return from the mailbox. 

He stalls an additional five or ten minutes looking at the envelopes, all of the postmarks except the first one smudged, and even the first one doesn’t say where Finn mailed it from. Kurt shakes his head and walks to the mailbox, standing beside it as he rips into it. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_I’m glad your favorite flavor is still rocky road. Somehow that makes me feel like not as much time has passed as actually has._

“Maybe it hasn’t for you, however that could have happened,” Kurt says thoughtfully. 

_Can I tell you a secret?_

“If you can’t tell me, Finn, who can you?” 

_I don’t even like fish. Like I know it’s good for me, but I feel like if I’m eating fish I just may as well be eating vegetables, and vegetables don’t make the kitchen stinky when you cook them. Unless you burn them which okay sometimes happens. Cooking isn’t my best natural skill. I don’t actually know my best natural skill. It isn’t cooking, dancing, writing, or drawing. I’m good at eating and sleeping, though._

“You can eat vegetables raw, you know. Salads. Crudites.” 

_Oh well. I guess not everybody can have lots of natural talents like you. Dogs like me, though, and they don’t really like you, so I think maybe I still win._

Kurt gasps a little. “Now that was uncalled for!” 

_Even though I said I’d only talk about not-depressing stuff, I did have one thing I was thinking about. Do you think there’s like one specific point in time where if you went back and changed it, everything else would change? I’ve been thinking about that a lot and I have some theories, but if you think that’s too depressing, you can just tell me your favorite, I don’t know. Sweater. Tell me what your favorite sweater looks like. I swear I find that kind of stuff interesting when you explain it!_

“Favorite sweater?” Kurt laughs. “And I’m sure there are some points like that.” 

_Just tell me more about you. It doesn’t matter what. I want to know all about how you are and what you like and the kind of stuff you think about. I feel like writing to you is the only really real thing I’m doing with my life right now._

“Oh, Finn,” Kurt says softly. “I hope that’s not the case.” 

_I just miss talking to you. I know we didn’t live together for very long compared to how long we didn’t live together, but I liked having you right there to talk to. I hope I’m not bugging you with too many letters._

“You definitely are not.” 

_Anyway, write me back when you get a chance._

_Love,  
Finn_

“I’m writing every day,” Kurt says, feeling almost puzzled. He puts the letter with the others and goes straight outside, looking at the lake only briefly before beginning. 

_Dear Finn,_

_Checking the mail has become the highlight of my day, so no, you are not writing too often or bugging me. I’m still working on some costuming jobs in the mornings, mostly for historical shows, so they have to be well-researched and detailed. I don’t have much room for creativity with those._

_My favorite sweater up here is a grey wide-ribbed pullover. It’s a little too rough and itchy for wearing next to the skin, but it’s perfect over another shirt in the mornings and evenings. I have a cabled turtleneck I like to wear in the city. It’s a sky blue, so I can’t wear it with everything, but it’s comfortable and looks good on me._

_I don’t know if points in time are depressing or not. I can definitely think of a few moments that would have changed almost everything. My wedding would definitely be one of those. I would have had to call it off at the very last minute, and the ripple effects would have been enormous, but it would be interesting to follow those trains of thought._

_I don’t think anyone has a natural talent for cooking. I think some people enjoy it more, and therefore practice it, so they have a foundation for more difficult techniques. I think they also buy higher-quality ingredients, so even the occasional slip-up just tastes better. I only like a few kinds of fish, but luckily they’re quite commonly served._

_Don’t stop writing. I’ve been trying to begin extricating myself from my life with Blaine, but it’s going to be hard going. I don’t know if I can prolong my stay here long enough to finish it._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Kurt folds up the letter and heads to mail it before he can decide to rewrite it and be less honest. Until he penned the words, he hadn’t realized he’d come to a definite decision, and now he has to face calling Blaine the next day to inform him. He eats leftovers for dinner, finishes his current novel, and takes a sleeping pill before bed, the first since he arrived at the cabin. He knows that the impending notification of Blaine will keep him awake otherwise, though, and when he wakes up, he’s slept an hour or so longer than usual. 

Once his breakfast is finished, he ignores his sketches and dials Blaine’s number for the second time since he left the loft. The first time he tries, it rings and rings, going to voicemail, and Kurt sighs, dialing again. This time, on the ring just before it would go to voicemail, Blaine answers. 

“Hello, Kurt,” Blaine says coldly when he answers the phone. 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, a little surprised by the depth of Blaine’s coldness. “How has your week been?” 

“It’s been like the week before it, and the week before _that_ ,” Blaine says. “But thanks for finally getting around to checking in with me.”

Kurt frowns. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, shaking his head. “But I wanted to let you know I’ve come to a decision.” 

“A decision to finally be honest with me about where you’ve been all this time?”

“You don’t need my address, Blaine. Surely a general description of the area is enough?” Kurt says. “I didn’t lie to you.” 

“So you’re still going with the Adirondacks story?” Blaine asks. “Surely you realized that eventually Keith’s friend would tell Keith that you never actually arrived, and that Keith would pass that information along to me.”

“I don’t know why Keith would lie to you like that, but I’m staring at Raquette Lake right now, Blaine,” Kurt says. “This is going to be difficult enough without you coming up with theories like this, you know.” 

“Have you been having this affair for more than a few months?” 

“An affair?” Kurt says incredulously. “What on earth are you talking about?” 

“It’s the only explanation I could come up with for you disappearing like that, lying to me and everyone else about where you are,” Blaine says. “I hope he’s worth it, Kurt. You’ve thrown away almost a decade together for him.”

Kurt laughs. “Really, Blaine? You think so highly of yourself that the only way I could leave you is if I were having an affair? I haven’t had a single affair or even a one-night stand, Blaine. I’m just not happy in our marriage, and I am sorry that I caused you to waste several years with me. But no, I won’t be coming back to the loft. I’ll stay here at the cabin until I can work out other arrangements.” 

“You’re not _at_ the cabin, Kurt! I spoke to Keith’s friend myself, and he says you never arrived. He’s been out there twice!”

“I don’t know who you spoke to, Blaine, or why they’d pretend to be Keith’s friend, but the mail for him has been accumulating, and I think I know where I am!” Kurt says. “Being upset is one thing, Blaine, but trying to make me think I’m going crazy is quite another!” 

“You would have to be crazy to think I would believe you, when you’re obviously lying to me, and who knows for how long,” Blaine says. “Honestly, Kurt, if you were that unhappy, why couldn't you just tell me the truth, so we could have worked through it like adults? All this sneaking around, disappearing for weeks at a time…” Blaine sighs loudly. “I don’t understand it. I was never that inconsiderate to you.”

“Oh, no, not at all inconsiderate,” Kurt snaps. “Just believing someone who claims to own this cabin over me, just accusing me of lying about my location repeatedly! That’s not at all inconsiderate!” 

“I tried to have you served!” Blaine suddenly shouts. 

“Now I know you’re lying,” Kurt says crisply. “There would be a legal record of that, and my lawyer hasn’t informed me of anything of the sort.” 

“I have pictures, Kurt. Someone from _my_ lawyer’s office went out to that cabin, and it was empty,” Blaine says. “The lights were off and the curtains were drawn, and the mail looked like it had been piling up in the mailbox for weeks. He took several pictures on his phone and sent them to me for confirmation.”

“He must have gone to the wrong address. I’m sorry you hired someone incompetent, Blaine. I’ll see you in court, I suppose, unless you sign the papers my lawyer will be sending over?” 

“Or you can sign the papers from _my_ lawyer,” Blaine replies. 

“I won’t be signing anything from someone who can’t even find the correct cabin.” 

“Then maybe I _will_ see you in court!” 

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Just walk away, Blaine. Please.” 

“I don’t have anything else to say to you,” Blaine says, ending the call.

“Thank God for that,” Kurt says to the empty cabin. “What a ridiculous claim. I think I would know if I’m at the cabin or not.” A stray thought crosses his mind, and he shakes his head irritably. “Where else would I be?” He doesn’t want to acknowledge the idea that any of it could be connected to the letters, though he supposes it’s technically possible. 

About two minutes later, his phone dings to indicate he’s received a text. Kurt almost doesn’t look, but it says they’re pictures, from Blaine, and when he opens them, they are of the cabin, or at least a perfect replica of it. The number on the mailbox is the same, the box stuffed with mail, and Kurt even recognizes the color of the weekly sale circular mixed in. The last name is the same, and Kurt frowns. 

“That’s not possible,” he says. “I don’t know why someone would have taken photos of this cabin before I arrived, but that’s the only explanation, surely.” Even as he says the words, he knows that it’s not true. The other explanation is that in the world where Finn doesn’t write letters, Kurt isn’t at the cabin, but Kurt doesn’t know what that means, or if he has to stay at the cabin forever in order to keep writing to Finn. 

If he has to stay at the cabin only, Kurt supposes he will have to learn to fish, but maybe it’s surrounding the cabin enough for Kurt to retrieve supplies. He stares at the photographs for a long time, then before he can talk himself out of it, calls his father at the shop. 

“Hey, son,” Burt says. “How are things with you out in the big city?”

“Hi, Dad. I’m actually not in the city right now, but it was fine when I left it,” Kurt says. “How’s Lima?” 

“Lima’s fine. Same as always.” Burt pauses for a few beats before continuing. “You’re not in the city?”

 

“No, I’m a few hours outside it, up in the mountains. Still working, just enjoying the peace and quiet,” Kurt says. 

“Oh. It’s just…”

“Just what? Working remotely isn’t that unusual,” Kurt says. Surely Blaine didn’t call Burt with his made up story. 

“Blaine called last week wondering if I’d heard from you. He didn’t seem to think you were up in the mountains,” Burt says, at least having the decency to sound embarrassed that he’s even asking. 

“Blaine has concocted quite the story that rests on believing people he’s never met over me,” Kurt says. “If I hadn’t decided on my own to end things, it’d be even more insulting.” He needs to somehow ask Burt about Finn, but he doesn’t know how to even start. 

“Well, son, I’m very sorry to hear all of that,” Burt says with a soft sigh. “But you’re doing alright? You’re somewhere safe, and you’re taking care of yourself?”

“I can text you the address, so you’ll have it,” Kurt says. “I’ve been doing a lot of writing and thinking. It’s not always easy, but I think it’s been good.” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. “I know this might sound odd, but when was the last time you spoke to Finn?” Kurt holds his breath, not sure what response he’ll get.

“You’re right, that’s a little odd. Why?” Burt asks. 

“Some of the writing I’ve been doing,” Kurt answers completely truthfully. 

“A day, maybe two days before his accident,” Burt says. “I think about that a lot. It’s always bothered me that I’m not sure if it was one day or two.”

“So many details are only important in retrospect,” Kurt says softly. It’s saddening and reassuring at the same time, in ways he can’t articulate. “What did you talk about?” 

“Brake pads. He was planning on coming by the shop, but something came up and he wasn’t able to make it. We talked about him coming by in the next couple of days.”

“Always something,” Kurt says. “Can you do me a favor, Dad?” 

“Sure,” Burt says. “What do you need?”

“Don’t talk to Blaine again? When I spoke with him earlier, he sounded confused about a lot of details and very angry.” 

Burt sighs again. “Alright. You’re sure you don’t want me to try to talk some sense into him and explain that you’re really where you said you were?”

“I don’t think it’d matter in the long run, Dad, but thanks for the offer.” 

“Okay. Well, keep in touch, will you? I hadn’t heard from you in so long I was starting to get worried,” Burt says. 

“Okay, Dad,” Kurt says, and he can’t help but feel like there’s still something off, because it hasn’t been that long since he and Burt talked, not compared to their usual interval. He tells Burt goodbye and ends the call, then putters around the cabin until it’s finally time to walk to the mailbox and collect the day’s letter from Finn. He needs to ask Finn about his last conversation with Burt, even though he’s not totally sure what answer to expect. 

He walks around the mailbox three times, trying to see any differences between the picture and the mailbox in front of him, but nothing jumps out, and Kurt pockets the sales circular before opening the envelope from Finn and leaning against the mailbox as he reads. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_I think I like the way the sweater you have with you sounds more than the one you like the best that’s still in the city. Sweaters are supposed to be comfortable, not complicated, and that other one you wrote about sounds really complicated for a sweater._

“You always did think some of my clothes were more complicated than they actually were,” Kurt says with a short laugh. 

_I’m glad you like getting letters from me, though. I like getting letters from you, too, and I like writing you. I haven’t ever been much of a writer. Mom always had to force me to sit down and do my thank you cards after Christmas and my birthday. I like writing to you, though. It’s almost like having a conversation with you. We could talk on the phone, I guess, but for some reason that doesn’t sound like it would be as good. If you get tired of letters, though, I’ll pick up if you call._

“Oh, Finn. I don’t know which number to call.” Kurt’s never deleted Finn’s contact, but he’s also never tried to call Finn’s old number. “And I worry that it wouldn’t work.” 

_I’m sorry the day you got married is one of the things you think about changing. I wish you were happy right now._

“I’m working on it. I’m better than I was before I left the city.” 

_One of the things I think about sometimes is how you used to have a crush on me, back when we were in sophomore year. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten Mom and Burt together like you did. That would’ve changed a lot of stuff for us, I bet._

“For good or ill, is the question there,” Kurt murmurs. “I wouldn’t have had a brother, but perhaps I would have still been enamoured and never looked twice at Blaine. It’s too hard to say.” 

_You know I feel bad for all the times I hurt your feelings back then, right?_

“I knew _that_ years ago, Finn.” 

_I was such a dumb kid. Sometimes I feel like a dumb, adult, too. I don’t think anybody did a really good job getting me ready to be a real adult. No offense to Mom, but she had a lot of other stuff going on._

“No, I don’t think either of our parents had any real idea of what to do with either of us. And no one at McKinley really was able to help, either,” Kurt says. “But you weren’t dumb.” 

_I know you’d probably try to argue with me, because that’s the kind of thing you do, but you know I’m right._

“You’re _not_ dumb!” 

_That’s the other great thing about letters, though. You can’t really argue with a letter. I mean, you can, but it takes a while to hear anything back, and by then you’ve probably forgotten what you were arguing about to begin with. Besides, I don’t want to fight. This is my favorite part of my day._

“How long does it take for you to get my replies, Finn?” Kurt wonders. “A day isn’t that long.” 

_You said you were reading a book. Did you finish it? You could tell me what book it was, and we can do book club like my mom and her friends tried to do for a while, only they mostly drank wine and sometimes they cried._

“We could skip the crying, for sure. I can’t remember if you liked wine, either, but luckily I started my older novel,” Kurt says. 

_That’s really all I’ve got for now, I guess. I keep thinking I’ll have something more interesting to write about, but when I sit down to write, I can’t ever really remember anything specific that’s very interesting._

“Hopefully I can jog your memory a little today, then.” 

_Write me something more interesting than I wrote to you. I bet you’ve got at least a few good stories to tell me._

_Love,  
Finn_

“Something odd is afoot, anyway,” Kurt says, straightening and looking at the mailbox again. “I’ll tell you a bit about that.” 

Kurt settles in on the deck and watches one of the larger birds fly back and forth for a bit before he begins writing. 

_Dear Finn,_

_I have some unusual questions for you today. The first two are related: when did you last talk to my dad, and what did the two of you discuss?_

_You’re right that I did try to argue with the letter. I still insist that you aren’t dumb, but you’re not wrong about our parents. How long are my letters taking to get to you? I have a reason for that question, too. I can’t remember if you actually like wine._

_I called Blaine today to let him know I’d come to a decision, to move on and away from him. He insisted it had been weeks since I’d contacted him, Finn. I haven’t even been here as many weeks as he tried to say! Weirder still, he hired someone to serve me with papers who apparently went to the wrong cabin, enough though it looked in the photos exactly the same as this one, because that cabin was closed up and the mailbox hadn’t been emptied in weeks. It’s so strange._

_I’ll pass along the name of my next book as soon as I retrieve it from my things, and we can start figuring out that book club, though without the crying, hopefully._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Kurt exhales heavily and folds up the letter, putting it into the already-stamped and addressed envelope and hurrying out to the mailbox. He walks around the area for close to an hour, reassuring himself when he waves at a few almost-neighbors who clearly recognize him. Still, once he eats dinner, he finds one of the bottles of wine he purchased and opens it, pouring a full glass as he sits near the fire, novel on one knee. 

He makes it three chapters into _The Lovely Bones_ before he has to close the book and set it aside, letting tears leak from his eyes. As he drinks more wine, watching the flames dance, he starts crying harder, and he’s not sure if he’s crying about the book, about the past near-decade of his life, about Finn, or some combination thereof. 

He hopes Finn is happier at that moment than he is. He hopes Finn gets the letters before bed each day, and that he responds in the morning, though he has no idea how it all works. He even, in his own way, hopes Blaine can find happiness with someone else, though perhaps, Kurt acknowledges, not in their loft. He hopes that he can find a way out of the marriage without too much fighting. 

When Kurt finally goes to bed, he knows he’ll have a headache the next day, because of the wine and the crying, but he also knows he’ll still get up, ready to take on what he has to in order to check the mailbox at the correct time. 

Kurt does exactly that, spending more time than he likes on the phone with his lawyer before eating lunch and responding to the accountant, finally leaving himself free to head to the mailbox and Finn’s letter. The mailbox looks the same as always, with no sign of overstuffed, neglected mail, and Kurt settles on a nearby stump with the letter, carefully opening it. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_It’s funny that you asked all those questions in your letter. I keep feeling like I’m forgetting stuff, like to remember to call people, and your letter reminded me that I’ve been forgetting. I guess it’s been a while since I talked to Burt. Probably we talked about work. I don’t remember exactly, but it must have been about work, since that’s what we talk about. I should probably call him later._

“Where are you, Finn?” Kurt says softly. “You should remember, or he should call you. Where are you?” 

_You know, it felt like I was getting a letter from you every day, but now that I’m thinking about it, that can’t be right, can it? I mean, even if you mailed me one every day, it wouldn’t be the answers to whatever questions I’d just sent you. They’d have to cross paths or something, and your letters always sound like you read mine first._

“But that’s exactly what I am doing, Finn,” Kurt says. “I can’t explain it either, but at least you’re getting them every day.” 

_That’s so weird about Blaine and the cabin. Do you think he’s having some kind of mental breakdown? He was always kind of high-strung like that. It’s not your fault he’s acting like that, though. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you guys, but if he’s going to be weird like that, it’s probably better if you’re not with him anymore._

“I’m mostly sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. I should have worried more about me and less about how it would look,” Kurt says. “At least you didn’t do that ever. You wouldn’t take meds just to make people think you were happy in your marriage.” 

_I haven’t really tried very many kinds of wine, so maybe we can do that with our book club. You pick a book and I’ll pick out a wine. I’ve tried the pink kind before and it wasn’t very good, so maybe a red one._

“I think I’ll get you a dessert wine, should we make this happen,” Kurt says. “And cheese.” 

_My subconscious must have missed you a lot, because I’ve been having weird dreams about you._

“Oh,” Kurt says, staring at the letter and re-reading that sentence. “Oh, what kind of weird dreams!” 

_Not dirty dreams or anything! Shit, now you think I’m having dirty dreams about you._

Kurt laughs. “I wasn’t, but I am now!” 

_I swear, they aren’t those kind of dreams!!!!_

“I wish you could hear me right now, because you should really hear my voice. That’s a _lot_ of protesting, Finn Hudson.” 

_Shit, shit, shit I should just throw this letter away and start over—_

“Oh no, you should not, and clearly you did not, thank goodness,” Kurt says. 

_—but I feel like it might be bad luck or something. Shit. Okay, that’s the end of this letter. Please, please, please don’t be upset at me!_

_Love,  
Finn_

“I’m not upset,” Kurt says as he stands, heading directly to the deck and tucking Finn’s letter under his empty mug. 

_Dear Finn,_

_Let me reassure you that I did not think those were the type of dreams you meant. I didn’t think that until I read your protestations, that is. Maybe you’re having dirty dreams and other odd dreams about me, too. Were they past events? If they were, I’ve been having similar dreams about you, I think._

_I do think we’re getting letters daily, though I can’t explain that either. How are we getting mail delivered and picked up twice each day? I suppose we shouldn’t look too closely at this particular gift to us._

_I’ll pick out a nice dessert wine for us. The book I started last night is_ The Lovely Bones _, and you should be able to find it at a local bookstore._

_I never thought I’d want to leave the city, but I admit, if I could find a property up here and commute periodically, I’d have to consider it._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Kurt mails the letter and fixes an early dinner, rereading Finn’s letter as he eats. He locks up the cabin and sits near the fire for close to an hour before deciding to go on to bed. He needs to inventory the food soon, but he can let that wait until the next morning, just like so many other things. What he wants is to contemplate Finn’s letter, and the fact that he’s almost certain Finn _did_ have some kind of dirty dream about him, especially combined with Finn’s mention of Kurt’s long-ago crush. 

Kurt tells himself he’s just going to think about the letter and nothing else. Not that Finn was his brother. Not that Finn may or may not be dead. Not that part of Kurt doesn’t know when he and Finn are each fixed within the stream of linear time. He knows the days he experiences, but somehow, he’s getting the feeling that time is different away from the cabin. 

All of his self-talk doesn’t make a difference ten minutes after he lies down in bed, and he wraps one hand around himself, his other hand barely touching his ass. The face in his mind is Finn’s, and all the intentions in the world don’t seem to matter, not once he actually starts moving both hands as his eyes close. He’s always hated when people described seemingly un-intense situations as ‘intense’, but that’s the word that floats through his mind as he pictures Finn in front of him, helping him. The hand on his cock starts to feel larger, and Kurt could almost convince himself that it’s Finn’s hand on him. 

Kurt closes his eyes more tightly, blocking out the sound of the fire still steadily crackling and focusing on the voice he can almost hear, the one that he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite forget. He feels like as long as he doesn’t open his eyes, Finn will still be there in the room with him, stroking him and whispering so softly that Kurt can’t make out the words. His hand—Finn’s hand—keeps moving, and Kurt can hear his own soft whimpers, the quality not that different from Finn’s whispers. When he finally comes, he doesn’t move, eyes closed as he forces himself to listen only to the flames steadily dying down. 

“Good night, Finn,” he finally whispers when he’s on the verge of sleep, and he doesn’t register any more sounds after the faintest of replies, someone who sounds exactly like Finn whispering “Good night, Kurt.” 

When Kurt wakes up the next morning, he’s not nearly as messy as he thinks he should be, and he doesn’t know what that means. He draws more sketches for his costuming job, he finds a nearly-fresh tomato hiding behind a bowl and has that with his lunch, then returns a few messages online before heading for the mailbox. A quick survey of the kitchen had reassured him he doesn’t have to leave for more groceries anytime soon, and Kurt feels almost light-hearted as he sits down on the stump with Finn’s letter. 

_Dear Kurt,_

_First of all, I don’t protest too much!_

“Oh yes, yes you did,” Kurt sing-songs. 

_So I’m just going to ignore that part and move on to the other stuff._

“Mmmhmm. Okay.” 

_I have been dreaming about the past, though, but it’s all weird and messed up. I dream about stuff that really happened, only in the dreams it’s like I’m not really there. Like I dreamed about your wedding, and even though I was there, I wasn’t there in the dream. Everything’s almost like it was, but I’m not there. I’m invisible, watching it all happen without really being there._

“It’s like we’re exchanging memories, somehow,” Kurt says. “Which is either disturbing or quite nice. It’s possibly a bit of both.” 

_Maybe I really am getting a letter from you every day. But how? That doesn’t seem possible. It can’t be possible. I don’t want it to stop, though._

“No, definitely not. I need it not to stop.” 

_But if that sounds weird, this is maybe even weirder. I already own that book!!! I don’t remember buying it. I don’t remember reading it. I don’t even think I’ve ever noticed I had it before, but when I read the title, I looked up at my shelf, and there it was, stuck in the middle of the other books! Did you maybe own it before and leave a copy behind or something?_

“I don’t know where I would have left it,” Kurt admits. “I don’t really know where you are. It’s like you’re in a strange version of the Room of Requirement.” 

_Part of me wants to figure it out. Another part of me says don’t look at it too hard and screw it up, stupid. Maybe I should listen to the second part of me._

“I don’t want to screw it up, either, but if I can apparently disappear for weeks and not have even been gone, maybe we can take advantage of it, even if we can’t figure it out,” Kurt says. 

_And I AM NOT SAYING I DID but if I did have a kind of dirty dream about you, would you be mad or grossed out? Maybe don’t tell me if the answer is yes. Especially since I didn’t, so never mind._

_Love,  
Finn_

Kurt laughs a little. “Oh, I wouldn’t be either of those things, Finn.” Kurt reads over the letter a second time and walks slowly back to the cabin, deep in thought. Maybe he’s messing with the world too much, but the world is clearly already a little off. 

_Dear Finn,_

_I’ve had similar dreams, except you’re present at events that I don’t remember you being present at. Perhaps we’re somehow trying to integrate each other after the passage of time. Similarly, I don’t think I owned the book before, but somehow influenced you to purchase it in the past._

_I don’t think we have to understand and figure out what’s happening to take full advantage of it. I’m going to put the cabin’s address at the bottom of this letter, and I think you should drive up on what will be my tomorrow. I’m not certain if you get my letters on the same day I send them, or the next morning. I don’t send them until afternoon, so either option seems possible._

_I would be neither of those things._

_Love,  
Kurt_

Before Kurt can talk himself out of it, he mails the letter, then spends an hour before dinner tidying the cabin, and another half-hour after dinner tidying the kitchen before reading more of _The Lovely Bones_ in front of the fire. He sets an alarm for the first time since arriving at the cabin. If Finn really does drive up, Kurt wants to be awake and waiting. 

Kurt wakes up with the sun, fixes a pot of coffee, and takes a mug out to the front porch where he rarely sits. He strains to listen, and before anything comes into sight, he can hear a distinctive rattle, one he hasn’t heard since 2013. “That sounds like Finn’s old thing,” he says to himself. “Only it was totaled in the same accident.” Somehow, though, the appearance of it doesn’t surprise him overly much, and he sets down his coffee mug as the engine cuts off. 

As the door opens, Kurt stands, and he isn’t sure what it says that the sight of Finn, alive, doesn’t send him sitting back down. “Hi,” he calls. 

“Hi!” Finn calls back. “I made it.”

“Yes, you did,” Kurt says, feeling strangely like he should be saying that they both did. “We can stay here awhile.” 

“It’s nice up here,” Finn says. He sits down next to Kurt, picking up the mug of coffee and drinking a sip before handing it to Kurt. “That’s a lot better than the last time I had coffee.”

“You look exactly the same,” Kurt says, staring at Finn. “I haven’t seen you in so long, but you look exactly the same.” The words ‘as when you died’ are hanging in Kurt’s mind, but he doesn’t know if it’s something they need to be explicitly naming. 

“So do you,” Finn says. “What’s so strange about that?”

“I couldn’t,” Kurt protests. “Flatterer.”

“You do!” Finn insists. 

“That’s just not possible.” 

“But you do,” Finn says. “You look exactly like I pictured you, even down to the sweater.”

Kurt looks down, a little surprised to see that he is, in fact, wearing the grey sweater. He doesn’t remember putting it on, though he supposes that’s a small detail. “I feel like we might be here awhile,” Kurt says. “Is that odd?” 

Finn shakes his head. “I like it here. I don’t mind staying as long as you want.” 

Kurt puts his mug into his other hand and reaches towards Finn, taking his hand. “The weather’s been perfect since I got here. Once I finish those last sketches, I won’t have anything else to accomplish.” 

“Who says you’ve got to accomplish anything?” Finn says. “I think just being here together… that’s enough, right?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says as he nods. “I think it’s just right.” 

Finn’s hand squeezes Kurt’s as he slides a little closer, tilting his head down to plant a soft kiss on Kurt’s lips. When he pulls his head away again, he says, “We should watch the sunrise together.”

“The sun’s already up,” Kurt points out. 

“Is it?” Finn asks, nodding his head towards the horizon. 

Kurt blinks, trying to focus, and he realizes that the sun isn’t up, though he would have sworn it already was. He thought that the sun had been reflecting on Finn’s windshield as he drove up, but he must be remembering wrong. “I suppose it’s not,” he agrees. The two of them sit in companionable, almost perfect silence, sharing Kurt’s mug of coffee as the sun roars to life in the sky in front of them. Kurt can’t remember the porch facing perfectly east, but he spent most other mornings inside, so he probably didn’t realize. The sunrise is beautiful, and Kurt leans against Finn. 

“I think that sunrise was perfect,” Kurt says as the sun clears the treeline. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, wrapping his arms around Kurt and holding him closer. “This place is like heaven.”


End file.
